


the killers

by nexusaurorae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bartender Lance, Dom/sub, Gangs, Guns, Heavy Drinking, I will add tags as the story goes on, Keith is a badass, M/M, Smoking, Stabbing, Substance Abuse, Unbeta'd, Violence, alcoholic, and a loser, background shallura - Freeform, but keith just really likes being taken care of, con artist lance, domestic abuse, gang leader lance, he has a dark past, idk what else, im down for that, it could be a daddy kink, itssssss kind of like subspace?, just there's a lot of dead bodies, keith gets kidnapped?, keith really likes sucking dick, lance gets turned on when keith kills people what a loser, lance is a softie deep down, lance is dead because of this boy's mouth i s2g, mild choking, ok so, peer pressure me idk, pidge is the sharpest bitch on the block, referenced underage sexual abuse, severe anxiety, sexy shit, whoa boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nexusaurorae/pseuds/nexusaurorae
Summary: a cynical, hotheaded, anxious and angsty keith kogane attends his brother's wedding and his past, the present, and his future begin to unravel at the hands of a lying bartender, gang leader and con artist, lance mcclain.





	1. mr. brightside

**Author's Note:**

> this chatper: there's drinking, implied smoking, dead bodies, blood, marriage, reference to an abusive relationship

Keith had been waiting for this ceremony for six months. Six months of watching Shiro stress, of watching Allura cry over floral combinations, six months of near sleepless nights trying to work out who could sit with who and booking venues and hiring caterers, and-

“You almost ready?” Pidge said, grinning at him from the doorway. How they got themselves inside his bedroom, beyond the seemingly intricate design system of electronic keycards, is a question for later. “Whoa, dude, your hotel room is so swanky!” they said, letting themself in and touching all the seemingly superfluous decorations in Keith’s hotel room. “Shiro and Allura really outdid themselves with the planning, didn’t they? They booked hotels for everyone, they arranged the ceremony, they paid…” 

Keith shot them a flat look. “I helped.” he said, with a narrow eyed glower. It was true. He had helped- in the form of the mediator- Allura and Shiro may not even still be getting married if Keith hadn’t been able to separate the fights they’d had over the last six months. He probably deserved a medal for his efforts- and a lifetime supply of alcohol. 

“Sure you did, buddy.” they just patted him on the shoulder and turned on their heels, adjusting their tie, continuing to talk as they strode towards the door. “Don’t forget, ceremony at five, don’t be late.” 

He rolled his eyes, and hoped it spoke volumes. 

Pidge paused in their steps, looking over their shoulder, tone soft but with a hint of danger, expectancy, maybe some hope-  
“Oh, and is Lucas coming?” Pidge said, Keith huffed, adjusting his cufflinks and running his fingers through his hair in the ornate floor length mirror. 

“No. He has work. Like the adult that he is.” Keith said, keeping his tone flat and without a trace of the disappointment he felt. Lucas had promised he would be here for Keith- in a setting that already had Keith on edge- and yet, Keith wasn’t even surprised anymore. 

Pidge nodded. “You know our stance on the matter, then.” they said, before shutting the door, perhaps more loudly than necessary. 

“He’s bad news, Keith. He’s always been bad news.” is all they had said, before ignoring him for two weeks, then pretending it never happened. 

He stared at the ceiling for one second longer before heading out of the room, shutting off the lights and out the words in his head. 

 

-

 

“And you may now kiss the bride.” 

Keith almost rolled his eyes. It was ridiculous just how long the ceremony had gone for, in the sun, on the sand, with passerbys in bikinis taking snapchats because ‘aww so sweet! and totally my aesthetic’. He felt lightheaded and needed a drink, whether it was alcoholic or not. 

Keith turned and looked at the white plastic chairs all set up with Allura’s family, Shiro’s family and a bunch of friends, all laughing and making happy remarks at the happy couple macking on each other’s faces in front of them. Keith once again, restrained the urge to roll his eyes.

Pidge gave him a look, and he gave a long sigh, staring at his black leather shoes in the sand. Unlike Allura, it was not ‘cute’ or ‘stylish’ for him to wear thongs to the wedding. Which, in itself, was deserving of an eyeroll. 

When the formalities had passed and after Keith had given his brotherly hug and a polite kiss to the bride and groom, Pidge had pulled Keith aside, their long, nimble fingers surprisingly strong on his bicep. 

“It’s your job to direct everyone to the bar.” they jerked a thumb backwards towards a bourgeois and fancy bar, which they had booked out for the evening. It was shaped like an old Victorian home- with atriums outstretching over the sand, in a strange juxtaposition to the seaside that was surrounding it. It had large windows where no glass panes stood, ready for anyone- anything- to jump through it. It set Keith teeth on edge, only adding to the uncomfortable anxiety settling in Keith’s stomach. 

Keith gave it an exasperated look, sighed through his teeth, gave one look to the sun hovering over the horizon- a spectacle that much of the wedding party had decided to photograph, “For my insta!” one woman had yelled- and nodded curtly, making his way over to the bar, to confirm the party’s arrival. 

Keith pushed open the door to the bar, appreciating the lighting system- of low candelabras, and fairy lights- it was so odd, so quaint that Keith squinted in disbelief, unable to pick up a proper theme and therefore setting his heart into a marathon style of racing. 

He walked over to the bar, staring at the door which opened to what he assumed to be a kitchen of sorts- or a staff room, by the looks of the guy that walked out. 

He looked Hispanic- but more importantly, he looked flustered, ruffled and recently- ah. 

A young Korean woman stepped from the room, looking equally as ruffled as the guy, but not nearly as glad to see Keith, evident from the guy’s smirk and overall aura, and her lips parted in a shocked gape. 

“Sister.” he said in Korean, a mocking lilt to his head, staring her down. She gaped and adjusted her dress strap. 

“Please don’t tell Big Brother.” she whispered, lower lip trembling. Keith considered her, then gave a mirthless laugh. 

“As if he’d care. As if I care. Do what you want. Feel free to go back to Korea, by all means.” he said, then decided to say his next line in English, “Wish your husband well from me.” he said, as both Eunsol’s face blanched, and the smirk was well wiped off the Hispanic guy’s face. 

Keith allowed himself to smirk at the overall reaction. 

Eunsol desperately ran from the bar, her long black hair- to her waist, from how it seemed- catching the last of the sunlight as she dashed in the other direction to the wedding gathering. 

He turned back to the guy, face blank. 

“Keith.” he said flatly, extending a hand, schooling his face and his trembling hands. The guy took the extended hand delicately in his own hand, their two skin colours stark in contrast, and pressed his lips to the knuckles- bruised and misshapen, and made temporarily beautiful. 

Keith smoothly pulled his hand away, as the guy straightened and looked up at him and said with a faint accent, “Lance.”

Keith studied him. “Well, I was told it was my job to tell you that the party should be coming soon.”

“The party?” Lance responded dumbly. 

“The wedding party. For the wedding. That booked this place out.” Keith responded, talking in a slow, condescending voice. 

Lance quirked an eyebrow and took a step forward towards Keith, much to Keith’s guarded displeasure. Unfortunately for Keith, the steps continued until they were almost nose to nose. 

Lance raised a hand and Keith flinched, face turning, expecting the blow- the blow that never landed. 

When Keith opened his scrunched up eyes, he saw Lance, stricken and looking somewhat hurt. Keith stared back at him, studying and noticing that the travelling hand was not to hit him for being disrespectful, but to hold his neck gently. It never made contact, because of Keith’s reflex. 

Lance opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, before articulately whispering, “I-I uh, I wasn’t gonna hit you.” 

Keith nodded, swallowing, meeting his gaze with his own hardened one. “Evidently. How nice of you.” 

They stood in awestruck silence for a beat more before Lance rolled his shoulders back and shrugged. “Whatever. You need to loosen up.”

Keith never got to reply, because the newlyweds chose that moment to burst in, followed by their crowd of fifty. 

Shrio wrapped an arm around Keith, who held back his grimace. “C’mon, brother! Drink up, let go of this hard ass shell and show everyone your usual self!” Shiro probed him with one finger, and being a general pest. “Hey, have you seen Eun?” 

Keith snorted. “She left early. Had to ring home, I believe.” he said. 

Shiro nodded somberly. “Right. Whatever. Forget her, let’s party, I’m that pretty lady’s husband.” Keith gave him a tiny smile, patted his muscular shoulder and wandered towards the bar, picking up a glass of something transparent and knocking it back, then another. He sat alone, watching the party getting more and more inebriated, observing that Pidge had either found an interesting relative or gone home. He presumed the latter. 

He gave up on not dancing and walked behind the bar and through the staff room door, deciding that everyone in existence can go to hell- he should make amends with the annoyingly attractive Lance. 

The door led to a corridor, with rooms attached, something that made Keith’s heart thump. He had some ideas for the purpose of these rooms and decided to ask Lance if the bar used to be a Gentleman’s club, before it was a bar. 

He opened the first door, took one look at the scene before him, stepped in and kicked the door shut behind him. 

There was a lounge, a bed, a table, some chairs, no windows and a high ceiling all screaming Victorian architecture and furnishings with none of the half-arsed modernisation. 

Then there was Lance, looking just as ruffled as before and yet for a substantially different reason. 

His crisp bartender’s shirt and vest were done up neatly still, the sleeved rolled up to his elbows, however the black leather gloves were an addition. So were the blood stains on everything and all over Lance, the knife, the corpse, the scattered deck of cards on a round mahogany table, the poker chips all over the floor, the money, the whiskey-

“Looks like you had a party.” Keith interrupted his own thoughts, staring at the corpse, then up to Lance’s eyes, knowing that from that look, he was not in danger somehow. 

Lance snorted and began walking towards the en suite, then to the sink, leaning over rinsing the blood off his forearms, his gloves and the knife. 

“Am I going to get an explanation?” Keith asked, hiding his fear and the trembling of his hands by crossing his arms and leaning on the sink with his hip, back to the wall. Lance tucked the newly clean knife into his back pocket, the pearl handle sticking out of the pocket. 

“Do you need one?” was Lance’s reply. “Or more importantly, do you want one?” he looked up at Keith through his hair and his thick eyelashes. Keith gave a one shouldered shrug. 

“For a guy that has been really, really articulate, smart sounding and somewhat cold, that was kind of childish, don’t you think?” Lance said, laughing. Keith found himself laughing quietly. 

After a beat of companionable silence, Lance straightened and looked back at Keith, directing him to the table and pulling up a chair for him. Keith sat, mildly impressed. 

“Let’s play.” Lance said, sitting opposite with an eloquent kick to dead man’s cut wrist, obviously not perturbed by the blood stains on the navy purple velvety chairs. 

“Play what?” Keith asked, staring at him, incredulous. “Cards? Poker? I don’t think I’m a worthy opponent, considering.” he said with an offhanded gesture to the corpse and mess around them. 

Lance laughed easily, and poured a glass of whiskey and passed it to Keith, then one for himself. “20 questions. Alternating. I’ll start. Why aren’t you throwing up, passed out or the slightest bit shocked about the dead man bleeding out on the floor, the blood stains or any of this mess?” 

Keith sighed, and fiddled with his fingers, taking a languid sip of the amber liquid before murmuring cryptically, “Not the first dead body or blood stains I’ve seen, won’t be the last.” 

“Am I going to get more context than that?” Lance enquired. 

Keith looked up with a sheepish grin. “Depends how good you are at 20 questions. My turn.”

Lance sat back and eyed Keith. “Shoot.” 

Keith grinned and picked up one of the revolvers lying around and cocked it, aiming it at Lance, who didn’t even shift expressions. “Why’s he dead?” he asked, using the gun to gesture at their audience. 

“He owed me.” 

“Owed you what?” 

“Money.” 

“Why?” 

“Family affair.” 

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

“You think you’re making it out of this room alive?” Lance countered with a huff of increduality.

Keith huffed a laugh and nodded, laying the gun on the table. “You can’t kill me.” 

Lance rolled his eyes, which made Keith give an on-brand smirk, playing with gun to hide the quivering of his fingers. 

“Why?” Lance asked, seeming bored. 

“Because if you shoot me, the party will hear and you’re caught before you can high-tail out of here. You can’t stab me, because,” he pulled the pearl-handled knife from his suit blazer, “I have your only one, and if you touch me I’ll scream.” 

Lance nodded, cracking his knuckles slowly, contemplating. “I see,” he said after a while, “So. What do you want? Money?” 

Keith smirked. “I want you to take your turn.” he said, eyes challenging. 

“Why? There, that’s my turn.” 

“Because. My turn. Who are you, who do you work for, what was this building originally?” 

Lance gave a bitter laugh. “All the important questions. I’m Lance McClain, I am a certified con artist, leader of a country-wide gang, and a bartender. The building was originally a Gentleman’s Club from the early twentieth century, which I own under a different name. My turn. Why did you think I was going to hit you, who was the girl, who are you?” 

Keith grinned. “I can tell you.” 

“Damn straight, you will.” 

“But I want to work with you.” 

Lance sat forward. “Alright, anxiety-boy.” 

Keith blanched, which made Lance chuckle. “Caught. You can’t hide your shaky hands from me. Your lower lip wobbles. Your eyebrows twitch at the arches when something doesn’t make sense to you. You’re an open book to me, baby boy.” 

Keith could barely breathe, staring at him and going vaguely pink. He was a swarm of mixed emotions, from the barest stirrings of arousal to a shattering panic. 

Lance threw his glass of whiskey straight at Keith’s face. He sputtered, wiping it out of his eyes. He turned back to Lance, mouth open ready to fight. 

“Don’t panic on me. Listen up. This is what I’m proposing.” 

Keith could have laughed, considering what kind of function he was missing. 

Lance leaned even more forward and let his eyes bore into Keith’s, steeling his gaze. 

“You can work with me. I’ll teach you the ropes. You can meet my comrades in arms, et cetera. You die, tough luck. You get locked up, tough luck. You forget your family; you forget your past. You are loyal to me only, not to anyone else in the gang. There are bonds, alliances but at the end of the day, you will betray everyone you meet if I ask. You are not submissive to me. We are equals.”

Keith listened and nodded, quirking an eyebrow. “And if I want to be submissive to you?” he asked in a soft voice, leaning forward a few inches between them over the table. 

Lance smirked. “Well, then that’s a different story then…” he said, eyes flashing down to Keith’s lips, his eyes, his lips. 

Keith leaned back, happy just to tease him. Lance looked back at him with such an indignant look that Keith snorted. “Tell me, mafia man. You got a cigarette?” 

Lance rolled his eyes in such a fashion that Keith was proud. “Not the mafia. I hate the mafia.” 

Keith sighed, throwing a nearby ace of spades at him. “Cigarette. Yes, or no?” 

Lance grumbled as he pulled out a pack of malboros and tossed it at Keith. “Keep the pack. One of my work mobile numbers is in there. I want you to pack up everything overnight, tell your family you’ve been hired here, and you have to work 12pm to 7pm. Which you do. You will get paid. I’ll need your CV, all relevant hiring info. You had an interview here two weeks ago. If you live with anyone, I want you moved out by tomorrow.” he stole the pack back and pulled a pen from his trouser pocket, scribbling an address on it. “You now live here.” 

Keith nodded, wanting to whip out his phone and write all this down. 

Lance smiled at him. “And considering you’re not weak or dumb, and seem more tough that you look, you might not get killed in the first week.” 

Keith huffed a laugh, and smiled at him. “You need a hand cleaning up?” 

Lance looked at him through his hair and gave a somewhat genuine laugh. “You know, you could be less annoying. I thought you were going to be more annoying, and I’d have to kill you. But you know, you might be not annoying enough to keep around.” 

Keith stared at him. “That doesn’t even answer my question.” 

Lance just laughed. “No. Get out, congratulate your brother.” 

It was only after that Keith realised he’d never told Lance Shiro was his brother.


	2. somebody told me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t trust a single person. I can’t have any friends; I can’t have alliances. I have employees, I have comrades- but in every situation they will betray me if it benefits them or their loved ones.” Lance explained, towering over Keith without being foreboding. 
> 
> “And yet, I find myself trusting the skinny Asian guy that crept into my meeting room without warning and caught me red-handed committing a murder- and not only did he not freak out, he offered to help me clean up my mess, he answered my questions and I let him ask me questions. He was a rarity that I want to protect, and I want to trust, and I want to have by my side because I can tell that you are fiercely loyal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck, the response for the first chapter was epic, thank you so much yall! i hope i don't let you down! 
> 
> in this chapter: more murder, some sexy kisses, mention of past abuse, some domestic violence (keith/oc), keith just gets beat up a lot, i think that's it? just be prepared, it's pretty violent emotionally and physically towards keith.

Keith returned to the main bar area, slinking to the remains of the drunken adults- it was Shiro and Allura slow dancing, and a bunch of people just making out nearby. Not wanting to interrupt what was potentially a significant moment between his brother and now sister-in-law, Keith slipped out through the door and began the trek back to the hotel, wanting mostly to shower, sleep and mull over his rather strange night with brandy in his morning coffee.

He knew, as he walked, that Lucas would have his hide for moving out- Lucas was already mad about him spending the night without him, so much so that Keith wouldn’t be surprised if Lucas had found his hotel room number and was in there right now. 

Despite everyone’s opinion, Lucas was a decent guy. He earned real money, with a real job, and he had been around Keith since junior year in high school. 

Back then, he had been an edgy art student who used charcoal and black ink, smoked cigarettes and with three artistic tattoos. He had gotten into fistfights- which Keith thought was so sexy- and let Keith bandage him up and kiss his wounds afterwards. And after the novelty of having a bad boy boyfriend had worn off, the occasional slap or punch had become a little too much, and the edginess was becoming tedious, Keith had watched Lucas grow up- practically overnight- and become responsible, watchful and cautious. 

He had changed a lot, too, after that one night. He wasn’t really surprised when Lucas had said, after a long, long fight, that he was going out. He was surprised, however, when Lucas came back the next evening in a suit and tie, hair trimmed, eyeliner gone and piercings not filled, promising he was going to try so hard to make it work, even if it meant cleaning himself up and getting a real life. 

His thoughts eventually strayed to Lance, making idle comparisons between Lucas and him. Lance was heart-meltingly and dick-hardeningly attractive, the picture of a freshly fucked and high on arousal Lance permanently burned into Keith’s mind. And from the way Lance had advanced on him in the bar, before Keith had gone and fucked it all up, it seemed that Lance had wanted Keith for his next conquest. Keith might tap into that, that look, those molten pools of brown eyes, those strong arms, covered in blood, the immediate possessiveness, those slim but strong hands on his bare skin- maybe, if it ends up that way.

He swiped his keycard, and slipped into the lavish room, and ungracefully flopped onto his bed, still deep in thought.  
So he near screamed when a voice behind him said in his native language, “Why would you do something like that, Brother?” 

Keith nearly rolled all the way backwards off the bed, nearly giving himself whiplash with how quickly he turned his body to see Eunsol, sitting on the window seat in the dark corner of the room. 

He had to admit that his half-sister- where she was fully Korean and he was not- was genuinely very beautiful. Long, shining hair framing her face and thick, batting eyelashes, shapely eyebrows and full, pink lips. She was lithe, as well, from years being with their father’s crowd, handling guns and wielding knives. 

“You could have told me you were so bored in your marriage that you had started fucking every stray piece of meat on the market.” he said coldly, overcoming the surface anxiety and replacing with his typical ice, hiding the shake of his fingers and the thudding of his heart, compartmentalising it, boxing it up, and trying desperately to shove it aside. 

He had been told once or twice that doing such things was unhealthy. He didn’t quite care. 

Eunsol stared at him. “You don’t know anything.” 

“I know enough; you are bored. You have delusions of grandeur, and a narcissistic personality disorder. You think that subtly, you can hint to Shiro that his father is not dead and that by doing so he will immediately run to your pathetic little terror group and join your “noble cause”, because though I can’t speak entirely for him, I know that he would see straight through you, wench.” Keith said, keeping his voice flat, low and dangerous. Eun held herself proudly, staring down at him as she stood from the lounge and took a step towards where Keith was sitting lazily on the large bed. 

“Just because you caught me in a time of vulnerability where I could not defend myself for who I truly am does not mean that I am any weaker than when you saw me last, Brother.” There was finality in her tone. She took a casual step away from him and moved to look out the window again. “I suppose you know why I’m here then?” 

“To try to recruit to your dumbarse terror group so I can feel good about myself while I order people to go kill children or anyone who dares pose a threat?” 

Eun hardened her gaze. “We cannot protect you if you treat us with animosity.” she said, gently laying two fingers on the glass, not looking at him. 

“I don’t need your protection. I don’t want it.” he said slowly, condescendingly, not unlike how he spoke to Lance earlier that night. 

She bristled, then walked towards him, giving him a harsh slap to the face. “You are a disrespectful half breed, and don’t ever think of returning to us. You will never return to Korea, or you will face the consequences.” she punctuated her statement with another hard punch to his jaw. Keith raised a hand to rub the bruising skin, but Eun grabbed the hand, and it took all his power not to immediately slap her across the cheek. 

Instead, he let her examine his misshapen fingers and knuckles. She rubbed her thumb over them, smirking. 

“I remember watching Father do this to you.” she said softly, dangerously. “I remember watching you writhe every night as he broke and rebroke your fingers, until one day, you just sat there, watching it happen and not even blinking at the pain. You were eleven years old.” 

“I’m aware. I was there.” he said smarmily, then regretted it when she twisted his middle finger backwards. He grimaced slightly, unable to bear the pain like he could, back when he was used to far worse treatment. 

She humphed. “You’re weak. Maybe you’re not as useful to us as we thought. I’m wasting my time here. Good fighting your enemies without us to watch your back.” she said, and then she was gone, just as smoothly as she’d arrived. 

 

-

 

Keith slept fitfully that night- so much so that at four forty-seven am, he checked out of his hotel room, and drove to his and Lucas’ apartment, trying to take calming breaths. 

Lucas wouldn’t hurt him for moving out- and if he did, Keith knew it was out of love. He was only attached to Keith, didn’t want him to leave, loved him too much, couldn’t bear the thought of it, and the violence was the only way he knew to express his feelings. 

Of course, this was all Keith’s assumption. Lucas had become cautious after he had cleaned up, had even stopped the violence for a while, but it had eventually returned, as had the alcohol. But Keith knew this was his way of dealing with his childhood- Lucas had grown up with an alcoholic father and a mother that made feel worthless and he never had anyone. And Keith knew that Lucas would never hurt him for no reason- it was Keith’s fault for screwing up, for making the mistake in the first place. 

Keith knew deep down that none of it was true. That he was lying to himself, but more often than not, Keith shut that voice up and accepted his own lies. 

Keith nodded to himself as he pulled into the apartment block, parking in his spot and walking up with his overnight bag in hand. When he knocked on the door, it was opened immediately by Lucas- in all his blonde haired and strong figured, furious glory. 

“Inside.” he said through gritted teeth, eyes bloodshot and red rimmed. 

Keith obeyed, giving a shaky sigh. His heart was racing, pounding thumping against his ribs. Shit. 

He caved to the panic in by the third strike, and part of him was relieved- he could no longer feel the blows or hear himself cry out, begging for him to stop, that he’d not do it ever again. He couldn’t hear the words, the reminders of why he was useless, why he didn’t deserve Lucas, or anyone- even to live. Keith didn’t even know that Lucas had walked away until the panic had subsided, leaving him breathless and tear-stained, unable to shelve the emotion, unable to hide it, to hide the trembling. 

He tucked his legs into his chest and tried to school his breathing, whispering to himself that Lucas hadn’t done it out of anger; out of love. It helped to lie to himself sometimes. 

He shakily got to his feet, breathing evenly through the flaring pain in various places over his body. He limped into Lucas’ bedroom, leaning against the bedframe. 

“I’m moving out.” he said flatly, his accent a little more pronounced because he was exhausted, and a night of speaking another language will do that to you. He shoved his hands in his pockets so that Lucas wouldn’t notice the violent shaking. 

Lucas nearly snapped his own neck, turning to look at him. 

“I have to. For work. I got a new job, and my boss needs me to live closer,” Keith said, staring at him. Lucas was sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, head in his hands. 

“You can’t. You can’t leave me. I’ll die without you,” he said quietly, a tear rolling down his cheek. Keith could tell that Lucas knew Keith meant what he was saying. 

Keith, for once, listened to the voice that reminded him of the bruises that Lucas had given him, the voice that told him to get out. Listened to the voice that reminded of how Lucas was bad for him- was a liar and fake lover and might kill him, a drunk and remorseless, too wrecked for Keith to fix. He looked back on everything-

Their first date. Lucas had made everything perfect. Wine, art, soft kisses. Lies about his life.

Their fourth date. Keith learns the truth through Pidge. Keith gets beat up for not trusting Lucas.

Their second year anniversary. Keith found Lucas in bed with a kid, barely legal. The hits to the head helped him forget the image. 

and hindsight is 20/20. 

The sheen now gone from Lucas, the penny dropped- Keith straightened, gathering every scrap of confident façade left in him. 

“I can’t not go. You can visit whenever you like. You can’t move in, but you can basically live there anyways,” Keith promised, tapping into the skills of lying and deceit from his adolescence and childhood. You had to lie about everything if you worked on the wrong side. 

Lucas nodded, running his hands through his hair. “But you still love me? You’re not trying to escape?” he asked, and in an instant, Lucas’ fingers held Keith’s wrists in a death grip, shoving him against the door. 

“O-of course I love you,” he stammered out, giving a weak smile. Lucas grinned and kissed him roughly, kissing down his neck, sucking a dark mark there clumsily, painfully, not in the skilful way he knew Lucas could do it. He knew that it had felt good once. Back when Keith had never consensually done anything sexual, never let anyone. Back when Lucas was the only person he could really trust.

He pushed him away, biting his lip teasingly. “Not now. I need to sleep, and you’re distracting me. You need sleep too, so you can stop being so grumpy all the time.” he said, kissing Lucas again, then again, then again, before tugging open the door, slipping out, and shutting it. 

When he heard Lucas’ steps retreat to his bed, the sheets fold up and the light flick off, he gave a long, deep sigh and closed his eyes, the trembling in his hands dampened to their usual flicker. 

He made quick work of gathering all his things into a duffel bag- he’d always travelled lightly. You never knew when you’d need to leave, in his father’s line of work. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes, looking at the address, memorising it, and tossing the pack into his bag. 

He wondered just what exactly Lance had planned for him. 

 

-

 

He arrived at the listed apartment, staring at the building a little bit in awe. It didn’t look like the kind of building a gang leader would buy an apartment from for a dumb nuisance guy who knows his secrets.  
He gave his name to the receptionist, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The receptionist nodded, searched him up and he blessed Lance for his efficiency when the man nodded again and began handing him forms to sign. The man gave him his key code and a rundown of the rules from the landlord, and then he was off. Keith gave an exhausted grin to himself as he fumbled with the keypad, shaking hands making it hard to get the right buttons. He eventually got himself in and examined the rooms. 

It was beautiful. A view of the city through large windows, double glazed, long curtains, crisp white lounges in front of the view a TV on the left wall, an arch opening to a big, modern kitchen and two bedrooms, each with a king sized bed and the fluffiest pillows which made Keith smile despite himself. The master bedroom had a huge en suite, with a spa and a shower, and two sinks. The master also had a walk in closet, already stocked with Italian suits. Keith assumed that Lance had already had his go at the apartment- or had people furnish and prepare it. Which confused him, but he was not complaining. 

Keith wandered back to look at the kitchen and almost passed out when he saw Lance standing there, pouring himself a glass of red wine, wearing a black and white suit. He just chuckled at Keith’s antics. 

When Keith righted himself, regaining his balance, he met Lance’s gaze, then dropped it to the glass of wine. 

“It’s seven thirty in the morning.” Keith said smartly, leaning on the wall, then grimacing- he forgot about the angry bruise there. He stood up straight and pretended the moment never happened. 

“I’m aware. You wanna tell me why you’re covered in bruises and look like death?” he asked, taking a long sip of his wine. 

Keith snorted. “Is that your turn?” 

Lance looked at him, amused. “Of what? Twenty questions? Sure, if it makes answering it easier.”

Keith wouldn’t lie- it did. The façade of this all being a game made it all so damn easy. Keith shrugged. “A relationship I ended. Hindsight is 20/20.” 

Keith, from the few hours he’d known Lance, figured he was not the kind of guy you’d want to piss off. 

And from what Keith could see, Lance was pissed off. “Are you telling me that you let yourself get beaten around by some punk bitch?” he said smoothly, but with an edge in his voice that meant danger. 

Keith shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to stop the shaking. He didn’t know if he could harbour another round of fisticuffs. “I-I…” 

“Keith, I want the address of this asshole. Can you get it for me?” Lance asked in such a soft, low timbre of a voice, that Keith whipped his head up to stare. 

“W-what?” he stammered, forgetting everything- his coldness, his icy external persona, his anxiety. He almost melted at that voice. 

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Especially not some punk bitch who thinks he can throw around tiny dudes like you.” Lance said seriously, making Keith wonder what in the hell was going. 

“My turn. Why? Why are you being so nice to me? Why do you want to protect me?” he near spat, frustrated and agitated and needing sleep and wanting answers, just wanting someone to be straight with him-

“Keith.” Lance said softly, pulling him from any other thought. Keith just stared up at him, eyes wide. Lance laid a tentative hand on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith let him. “Do you know what it’s like to live in my kind of environment?” 

Keith wanted to fucking laugh. He kept his mouth shut. 

“I can’t trust a single person. I can’t have any friends; I can’t have alliances. I have employees, I have comrades- but in every situation they will betray me if it benefits them or their loved ones.” Lance explained, towering over Keith without being foreboding. 

“And yet, I find myself trusting the skinny Asian guy that crept into my meeting room without warning and caught me red-handed committing a murder- and not only did he not freak out, he offered to help me clean up my mess, he answered my questions and I let him ask me questions. He was a rarity that I want to protect, and I want to trust, and I want to have by my side because I can tell that you are fiercely loyal.” Lance finished, then straightened and adjusted his lapels. “On the other hand, it is possible that you will let me down, but you know, I allow myself some hope every now and then.” 

Keith blinked at him, fairly certain he was blushing, and fairly certain his hands had stopped trembling. “I don’t want to let you down,” he said in a tiny voice, looking at Lance. 

“Then don’t.” Lance turned to him again, sighing, staring at him in the eyes. “I want the address.” 

Keith felt his mouth twist into a deadly smirk. “Tell me what you’ll do to him.” 

Lance stared at him, before walking right up into Keith’s space, lifting him up, and sitting him on the kitchen bench. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t want. Promise.” he said, lips against Keith’s ear, and honestly, this wasn’t what Keith had anticipated but he hadn’t gotten laid in so long and Lance’s hands- lightly- on his stomach- when did that even happen- felt so good. 

“Promise.” Keith whispered, eyes closed, hands crawling up over Lance’s strong arms, holding his neck. “I want details.” he asked, turning his head to Lance’s, noses brushing. Lance leaned in to kiss him and Keith smirked, turning his face away. 

“You want details? You wanna know that I’m going to make sure Lucas bleeds, make sure he gets just as many bruises as he gave you. I think I should count them. Medical analysis.” he said, tugging at Keith’s shirt, and with a single nod from Keith, the grey nirvana shirt was gone, Keith’s abused, pale skin on show. If Lance noticed the scars- he didn't mention them. There was probably worse on the tanned boy's skin anyways.

Anger seemed to flare in Lance, and Keith patted it out by running a steady hand through Lance’s hair. Lance paused, looking up at Keith with eyes open to his emotions. Keith saw it then. Sympathy. 

He guided Lance’s head to the first bruise he received, one over his collarbone. “One.” he counted for Lance, smirking as Lance got the picture. A kiss to Keith’s chest, “two,” his ribs, twice, “Three, four.” He is more than a little breathless, eyes closed, head fallen back against a cabinet Keith hasn’t even opened yet. “F-five.” he gasps out when Lance lays his lips to Keith’s nipple, shivering. 

Eventually Keith is so blissed out that he stopped saying the numbers and continues with the soft noises and dragging his fingernails down over Lance’s back. 

Lance doesn’t mind when Keith falls asleep, pushed past what was arousal and into what was more like bliss, induced from careful attention and care- the press of soft lips and gentle hands. Keith can vaguely remember Lance’s little huff of laughter, a final kiss to his forehead and being wrapped up in a bed, a thumb running over cheek. 

They weren’t lovers- not by a long shot. They were probably friends, but Keith couldn’t be bothered enough to look for sure. All he knew was that no matter what they were, Lance had his back and Keith had Lance’s- even if it killed him. 

 

-

 

Keith woke at one pm, stumbling out of the foreign bedroom of his new apartment- something he still couldn’t believe- and the memories of that morning flooded him like thirty thousand buckets poured over him. He allowed himself a tiny smile at Lance words, his touches- he knew he could be what Lance was looking for in him, knew he could be trusted. And he knew that he could trust Lance, and he would, even if it was going to put him in the grave at the hand of Lance behind the trigger. His hands weren’t shaking. Not even a little bit. 

And knew that it was because of Lance.

He rounded the corner into the entrance hall, a feeling of awkwardness settling over him, but it subsided when he met eyes with Lance. 

He gave a sheepish grin like a kid who had accidentally broken his mother’s favourite vase, not a grown man leaning over a body with three stab wounds and a gunshot, bleeding out onto the tiles. 

“Seriously?” was Keith’s only remark at the sight, before he stepped over the body, tiptoeing around the pools of blood, into the kitchen, looking for some fucking paper towels.


	3. wonderful, wonderful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance whistled, the corner of his mouth curling up in a knowing way. “You gonna beg for me to tell you this time? You ‘want details’?” he teased and Keith’s cheeks got hit with a new wave of redness, but his flattened his gaze. “Jesus, tough crowd today. You’re a lot more fun when you’re either drunk or tired. What happened to your cute little smile, mami?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter: 
> 
> mugging, more death, blowjobs, implied fucking, smoking, drinking, lies, domestic violence, keith drinks a lot of wine, lance is a poohead tbh 
> 
> enjoy:) your comments all make me smile i love you all
> 
> ps. im trying really hard at this fic, like i have chapter summaries and character notes and shit, yay for taking things fucking seriously 
> 
> fucking yippee

 

“So who was he?” Keith asked, crouching on the tiles and watching Lance pull up the zipper on the black bag around the body. Keith felt a sudden urge to clean the blood off of Lance’s face but ignored it, approaching.

 

Lance got up, giving a deep sigh. “He was a member of a Texan group that I’m currently in a turf war with. He probably wasn’t told to find me- a personal vendetta. They seem to think that I’m ignorant to the fact that most of them run their families off their turf money. I’m not. I just don’t care.” Lance walked to the sink to rinse the blood off his hands, and Keith followed, trying really hard not to find the blood in the sink and on Lance’s bruised hands alluring.

 

Keith smirked and raised an eyebrow. “So he showed up here? Don’t you have another place that you live?”

 

“Dude, I’m rich, but not that rich. I sleep down the hall, though I’m not surprised you don’t remember me walking down there because you fell asleep whilst I kissed your tummy.” Lance poked Keith’s stomach and Keith flushed a beautiful bright red.

 

He stared at the ground, embarrassed and for some reason, flustered. “Well, I-“

 

“Ah bup bup bup bup.” Lance zipped his lips with a single gesture. “It’s fine. It was cute. And you had had a long night.” he winked at Keith and Keith cleared his throat and regained his composure when he realised he was probably letting on so much more than necessary.

 

Something about Lance stripped Keith of all his defences, and deep down, Keith considered to not be as bad as he initially thought.

 

Keith looked up at him flatly after a second. He opened his mouth, but Lance interrupted him.

 

“Nice recovery there, but I’m not blind, I can still see your cute lil’ blushy cheeks.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes, and hoisted himself onto the same kitchen bench space that Lance had put him on last night. “Shut up for like, one second?”

 

Lance scoffed, drying off his hands on a hand towel and leaned against the opposite kitchen bench to the one Keith was sitting on. “I’m taking a turn.”

 

“I’m fairly certain you take a lot of those-“ Lance silenced himself at the look Keith sent him and held his freshly cleaned palms up in surrender. “Alright, alright, shutting up, you’re the boss.”

 

Keith restrained himself from the threatening grin and tried to look somewhat professional, not giving up on keeping his guard up. “I want to know what you own and make, country wide.”

 

Lance whistled, the corner of his mouth curling up in a knowing way. “You gonna beg for me to tell you this time? You ‘ _want details_ ’?” he teased and Keith’s cheeks got hit with a new wave of redness, but his flattened his gaze. “Jesus, tough crowd today. You’re a lot more fun when you’re either drunk or tired. What happened to your cute little smile, _mami_?”

 

Keith just stared at him blankly, heart thumping in his chest. He wasn’t going to find anything out if this kept up.

 

“Now you’re just being evasive. Pathetically so.” Keith said flatly. “Answer the damn question.”

 

Lance looked at him darkly. “Fine. You’re no fun. I’m gonna spike your drinks from now on.” he said, almost childishly petulant. Keith could have laughed, but gave only an amused huff of laughter.

 

Lance didn’t talk like, act like, or even have the persona of a murderous gang leader and criminal. He had terrible grammar, spoke with an accent, dressed like an idiot ( _a sexy idiot,_ Keith’s brain supplied unhelpfully), used words like ‘dude’ and was a terrible flirt. Keith found himself tempted to cave to him and his expensive cologne; just to serve as Lance’s mistress- a mistress who could kill. Keith caught himself smirking and wiped it off his face.

 

“Well…” Lance began, pulling Keith from his thoughts. “Well I own the East and West coast- meaning that I have control over all the trafficked drugs and fun stuff like that, as well as getting nearly all the profit to my own personal accounts. I’m clean, though, I don’t tap into anything other than a healthy habit of smoking pot and cigarettes. I used to be into cocaine, and I don’t know why I’m tangenting onto my old drugs habits.” he gave Keith a perplexed look and just shrugged before getting back on track, which Keith found to be a truly endearing show.

 

“I own a ring of casinos around the country, most of which I own through a _classic_ con I pulled when I was eighteen. There’s about 30 of them, all rigged,” Keith gave a tiny huff of amusement, “and that rakes in about 50 million a year, which goes mostly into,” he met Keith’s eyes and gave a deep sigh. “which mostly goes into charities and orphanages, along with a bunch of schools for kids with disabilities, okay? Something that is decidedly un-badass but I don’t want to lie and say that I keep all of it because I honestly don’t, and I pulled the con for the thrill, not for the money, so really, there’s no reason to keep it,” Lance said, grimacing. “I own a few bars as well, because I pulled a heist that lasted five years and I had to work as a bartender- so that’s where you found me. I found that I genuinely enjoy the work, though, so I saved up and bought it. It’s the job that I tell people I have because it’s the job I have most honestly- God, you are a brilliant listener, now is the time to tell me to shut up.”

 

Keith smirked slightly, a glimpse of a smile peeking through. Lance beams, bright and beautiful and it makes Keith’s cheeks flush. “Ha, got you.”

 

Keith glares at him, but felt the warmth spreading in his chest. “Anyways, what are we going to do about my horrific ex-boyfriend?” he asked, kicking his legs. And before he knew it, the world seemed to pause, and his stomach dropped. “I never told you about Lucas.”

 

Lance’s expression was schooled, his arms crossed over the white dress shirt, stained with blood. The image turned from amusing to sinister in Keith’s mind. He felt the quake all over his body- the striking anxiety returning in an instant. Any sort of safety that had niggled its way into Keith’s state of mind evaporated into thin air. Keith jumped down from the bench, still staring at Lance, trembling.

 

“ _Fuck._ ” he breathed shakily, depending on every defence mechanism he had developed over the years.

 

So Keith did what he’d been doing his entire life. He ran.

 

 

-

 

 

Keith ran as far as he could, but ended up hopping on a city tour bus and getting a ride back home, with only a tiny bag of belongings that Keith had packed _just in case_.  

 

He was so stupid to have doubted Lucas. He always knew what was best for him, always knew what Keith really wanted. He was so stupid to have trusted Lance. He knew something was off about him- he looked back on it and just knew.

 

He knocked on the familiar door, salty tears running down his cheeks.

 

Lucas opened the door, and the sympathy on his face broke Keith; he simply flung himself into the taller blonde’s arms.

 

Lucas held him tightly, stroking his hair in a way that would always soothe him. Keith let himself sob into Lucas’ shoulder, feeling so betrayed and _raw_. He had let one person in on whim, and they fucked him over. Even if Lucas hurt him sometimes, _this was worth it_.

 

“I told you not to leave,” Lucas said coldly, his grip on Keith loosening.

 

“P-please, Lucas, I’m _sorry_ ,” Keith blurted out, trembling all over. He couldn’t take it.

 

 _Practise the breathing exercises_ , he heard his old psychiatrist’s voice.

 

In-

 

he fell to his knees, letting the blows come and go.

 

out-

 

he shouldn’t trust anyone; he knew it was bad idea from his arrival in America.

 

in-

 

he vaguely heard yelling, vaguely heard a gunshot, vaguely vaguely vaguely, caving to the panic, letting hold him, blanket him, protect him from seeing, hearing, understanding.

 

out, out, out-

 

_keith, we’ll always protect you, you know that right? we love you just like we love shiro- which is so, so much. never forget that-_

in-

 

a gravestone, two gravestones, cold-blood killers, and he _can’t_ , why are humans so _mortal_ and the world is spinning, he’s spinning, he’s flying-

 

 

out-

 

they _loved him_

 

in,

 

and _you let_

_them_

_die_

 

 

in,

 

 

in, in, in, in, in, in, in-

 

hands on his arms, hands gentle, hands careful, hands _kind_

 

out-

 

words, words, hands in his hair, gentle everything, the calm after a storm, wiping the tears- the tears he’d been crying? he’d been crying, sobbing, and now someone was caring for him, telling him “It’s okay, he’s gone, he’s dead,”

 

in, shakily, deeply-

 

He’s there, sweat beading on his forehead but otherwise serene, and Keith gives a tiny sob again, scrambling away, getting- miraculously- to his feet and holding onto something- a table- for balance, schooling his breathing, blinking until his vision is restored, the voices are gone and he can’t see anything but Lucas’ bloodied body on the floor.

 

out, slowly, calmly, composed.

 

“He’s dead.”

 

Not a statement, not a question, with the expectancy of ‘well what now’ in Keith’s tone.

 

Lance looks at him, in a mix of horror and awe. “Are you ok-“

 

“Finish that sentence and you end up like him.” Keith casts a pointed look from Lance to Lucas, and Lance stops immediately. “You’re going to deal with him,” he points at Lucas, “and then you’re going to sit on that lounge there and tell me everything you know about me and how you obtained that information and if you lie or mislead me, show help me God, I might actually kill you.”

 

Lance gave one, guilty nod and, surprisingly, did everything Keith asked. By the time Keith had poured himself an absurd amount of red wine into the biggest cup he could find- a limited edition Harry Potter mug Keith had won in Orlando, when he was thirteen- Lance was patiently sitting on the couch.

 

Keith returned, and looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

 

Lance ran a hand through his hair. “I- okay. So I know Lucas. I used to work with him, he worked in California, at a drug port I owned, still own, and I met him once and we were kind of friends, and then I lost him- to a bunch of Koreans. We kept in touch- he borrowed money occasionally- and I found out he was employed by the actual Korean mafia, to survey the movements of one of them, an escapee- so when I found out about the secret son, your brother, about his wedding, I made Allura an offer she couldn’t resist for my bar, so they could hold it there- simply so I could get to know the Koreans- I wanted Lucas back, and I was curious about your family. Then I met Eunsol, who was so useful, gave me your life story head to toe. Stupid girl, I should have killed her when I had the chance, because her husband found out about her frequent visits to me, and now I’m in deep shit with them. Then you showed up, and I didn’t recognise you. Not until you showed up in my apartment for the first time. That’s when it hit me. But I honestly was only curious, and didn’t want them to pose a threat to me or my turf. And I _fucking hate mafias._ And I hate what they did to you. I hate Lucas for what he did to you.”

 

Keith’s vision swam. He had no idea what was going on, he needed some sort of escape. “So basically, out of curiousity and possessiveness you got mixed up with my family, and now you’re on their hit list because you’ve associated yourself with not one, not two, but all three of the bosses’ children. Good fucking work, Lance.” Keith didn’t even fight the sarcastic venom in his voice.

 

Lance only laughed. “Yeah. I’m an idiot. With a lot of battles to fight. But you know, worth it. Because now I know you.” He looked up at him hopefully, with an open expression that made Keith’s chest twist up. “Can I take a turn?”

 

“Whatever.” Keith said evasively, but Lance didn’t even shift until Keith rolled his eyes and waved a hand. “Sure. Fine.”

 

Lance sat up a little, his face open, showing what Keith dared to think was vulnerability. “Why did you ask to work with me?”

 

Keith took at thoughtful sip of wine, contemplative. “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, my life is kind of shit- between running from my half-sister and my father’s minions and henchmen, my abusive boyfriend,” Keith blinked once and relaxed his choking up throat- it still hurt some part of him to describe Lucas that way. “and a debilitating anxiety disorder. So I figured that finding someone who help me get back at them, to get them off of my back, so to speak, would be rather useful. So therefore, when I saw you, covered in blood and too easily caught, I saw an opportunity.”

 

Lance nodded. After a beat of silence, Lance looked up at him earnestly.

 

“I’m going to be honest.”

 

“Great start.”

 

“Shut up. I’m going to be honest. I expected nothing of you when you walked into that room. I felt bad, especially after you thought I was going to hit you, or beat you up instead of mercilessly flirt with you- I knew that I’d have to kill you, but small sacrifices. Then you stole my knife, meaning that killing you without getting caught would have been really difficult. And I knew I’d underestimated you. Then you played my game, offered to help me clean up, and wanted to work with me. You weren’t horrified. You weren’t greedy. You didn’t blackmail me.”

 

“Well-“

 

“And you put your trust in me after everyone that had taught you to not. And I want you around, Keith. I don’t want to break your trust. I want you to be my partner in crime, I want you to go back to feeling safe and I want to be the only person that can settle the trembling in your hands.”

 

“Why are you giving me basically the same emotional monologue you gave me this morning?” Keith said, using the snarky line to hide his smile.

 

“Because I fucked up. And I’m _sorry.”_ Lance stood up, moving around the crappy coffee table to where Keith stood, next to the fireplace. “Also because I don’t shut up, and the emotional monologues make you smile.” he said gently, those scarred, but soft hands gently holding Keith’s cheeks, searching Keith’s eyes. “So, Keith, do you want to be my partner in crime?”

 

There were a thousand questions hidden under the surface of that one; “ _do you trust me like I trust you”_ and “ _I’m sorry for breaking your trust, do you think I can earn it back”_ and “ _will you stay with me_ ” and it made Keith’s eyes water, hands trembling.

 

"Everyone I've ever known has hurt me, used me, broken my trust," he said weakly, voice so soft and raw, "what makes you different?"

 

Lance smirked at that. "See, Keith, that's the difference between me and everyone else.." he murmured, wrapping his arms around Keith's waist, holding his own wrist behind Keith, and leaning in, but keeping a careful distance between them. "They are always going to let you down." he murmured. "Always going to hurt you. I however, will earn your trust, learn you inside out and then again, and will never, ever betray you. Not if I know you’d do the same," he whispered, their lips so, so close, and for once, Keith let himself loose, unwound himself and felt his trembling hands still, and leaning in to wrap his arms around Lance's neck and letting their lips meet.

 

It was so intense, holding the other like a lifeline, hands in his hair and tugging him closer still, desperate for him to stay, never wanting anything to separate them ever again.

 

Lance eventually pulled away, beaming, and Keith looked up at him, giving a breathless and helpless laugh.

 

“Considering the past,” Keith tugged on Lance’s left arm to check his shiny, gold and probably ridiculously expensive watch, “22 hours I’ve known you personally have been wild, and there’s about 3 different gangs slash mafias that want us both dead, and we only know each other through other people’s voices and just under twenty-four hours of intense connectivity, we should go make use of that bar you own,” Keith said decisively, patting Lance’s bicep and walking to his old bedroom to get changed out of his clothes.

 

When he returned, he was freshly clothed in dark jeans, a leather jacket and a white t-shirt, and Lance wolf-whistled.

 

“Hey, stranger,” he said, running an appreciative eye along Keith’s form. Keith flushed and glared at him. “Are we going or not?”

 

Lance laughed easily and got up, following behind Keith.

 

 

-

 

 

In the empty bar- it was always closed on Sundays- Keith stood behind the bar, Lance sitting in a stool. He had already done a top to bottom of the place- easily finding all the secret gun hidey-holes and throwing knives hidden in cutlery drawers, all of them splayed out along the counter.

 

“Drink up, but I’m not driving your drunk ass home,” Keith said, handing Lance a martini glass filled with a bunch of different drinks in it- when Lance had challenged him to make the most disgusting drink he could manage, Keith took did not take it lightly.

 

“You sound exactly a guy I know.” Lance smiled over the rim of the glass, looking at Keith cheekily.

 

“I do.” Keith said, leaning over the bar on his forearms.

 

“Yes. You might know him. About this tall,” Lance gestured about nine inched off the countertop, making Keith give him that look where he tries to look reproving whilst smiling, “pretty grumpy, has enough sass to make a teenage girl look like a nun, but he’s also a huge softie when he’s comfortable, really likes people playing with his hair, is kind of badass, he’s-“

 

“Oh, shut it, would you?” Keith said incredulously, throwing a handtowel at him. Lance caught it.

 

“Is that a turn?” Lance countered, which made Keith roll his eyes and take a long drink from his coke and Bacardi, because he has the same taste in alcohol as British boy bands.

 

Lance took a sip of his own drink and Keith watched as he swallowed it like a champ, downing all of it, not breaking eye contact. He threw down the glass and yelled, “Another!”

 

Keith laughed at that, shaking his head. “Impressive.”

 

Lance shifted on his chair, cheeks pink and tongue loosened with alcohol. “Can I tell you a secret?”

 

Keith gave him a sceptical look. “Sure, why the fuck not, I guess.”

 

Lance grinned. “I only drink whiskey for the aesthetic. I don’t like it that much. I do love cosmopolitans, though.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes and laughed fondly. “You would, wouldn’t you.”

 

“Another turn. Why do you have an British accent if you’re Korean?”

 

Keith huffed with amusement. “The English they taught me in Korea was British English, and my teacher was from Manchester. So.” he shrugged slightly.

 

After a moment of Keith just swirling his own drink, Lance made a startled noise.

 

“Shit, are you even legal?” he stared at Keith, eyes wide, pupils a little dilated. Keith glowered at him.

 

“I’m twenty-three. I graduated college. I’ve been boozing it for years, Lance, chill. How drunk are you?” he asked, trying to think of how much Lance had drunk in between them asking each other questions and figuring out things about the other- important things like cat or dog person, favourite ice cream, favourite colour- which was a fair amount, but not _that_ much.

 

“Oh my God, you’re a total lightweight.” Keith grasped Lance’s jaw, staring at him, nose touching. “You, Mr. Big Bad Gang Leader Criminal, are a massive fucking lightweight, who can’t hold his liquor, even though he was the gayest taste in alcohol.”

 

“I’m not and I don’t,” Lance flat-out lied, hand snaking around to the back of Keith’s neck, tugging him closer, so Keith was basically halfway over the counter. “Would you like me to list all your weaknesses?” Lance smirked, and Keith shot him a flat look.

 

“Go ahead, you big talker.” he allowed himself the coy smile, just this one time.

 

“Your neck, you like any sort of attention to it…” Lance murmured, thumb pressing against Keith’s adam’s apple, making his eyes flutter closed and eliciting soft gasp. “You like being touched, though you’d never admit it to yourself. You like hands on you, grounding you, owning you…” Lance led Keith around the edge of the bar until the raven-haired boy was standing pliantly in between Lance’ thighs- eyes half lidded, still listening but mostly just revelling in the deep timbre of Lance’s dominating voice.

 

“And you like to be handled with care- you like it gentle, slow- but you don’t mind my hands in your hair, do you?” Lance whispered, smelling like vodka and champagne and drunk but Keith was too turned on to care.

 

Keith could only shake his head and lean into the touch, holding onto Lance’s arms and leaning forward to kiss him helplessly- but Lance caught his jaw and held his thumb against Keith’s lips.

 

Which backfired for Lance, because Keith easily sucked the finger into his mouth, leaning into Lance, whose other hand was under Keith’s t-shirt, rubbing circles into the small of his back.

 

At the same time as Lance slipped a warm hand under the waistband of Keith’s jeans and gently palmed and held the soft flesh of his ass, the door bust open and three big, burly Korean men stormed in, guns held up instantly, yelling for Keith to surrender to his father, yadda yadda yadda. Keith was so done with his father’s desperate routine.

 

Keith glared at them all, before looking to Lance, nodding once, and the tanned man immediately reached for a gun, and the Koreans immediately aimed and fired at Lance.

 

Of the two knives thrown, one grazed Keith’s cheek, and he felt a trickle of blood fall from it near immediately. The other missed completely and dug itself deep into the wood frame around the glass cabinet.

 

Keith used the Lance’s diversion to grab two guns from the counter and fire two incredibly accurate shots, followed by a third from Lance, taking two of the three men down fast enough. Their blood flew across the walls and ceiling, ruining the wallpaper, and Lance made a noise like he’d been the one who was shot.

 

One particularly stoic man continued firing at them with a bullet in his stomach, but for an associate of the Korean mafia, his aim was pretty shit, Keith noted. Keith dodged the sloppily aimed bullets easily and got close enough that he could kick the gun away and the guy down onto his back, swearing at him in Korean before shooting him in between his eyes. Blood poured from his mouth and his eyes rolled back until they were white, and Keith began checking him for any knives or things he could steal for his own. Eventually he found one of the branded knives, and its sheath and he grinned, taking it for his own.

 

Suddenly he felt a presence at his back, and a long, tanned arm slipped around his waist, Lance’s body flush against him. He smiled and closed his eyes as Lance began kissing down his neck, sucking dark marks, biting carefully, making Keith give a breathy moan.

 

Lance paused, breathing hotly into his ear, “That was so fucking hot.”

 

Keith laughed elatedly. “Does watching me kill people make you hard?” he teased, grinding back on Lance’s hardness behind him.

 

Lance growled, and nipped his neck in response, making Keith give a shaky gasp. “F-fuck. I-I want to suck you off.” he whispered, his posh accent making the line twice as filthy.

 

Lance gave a visible shiver, and dragged Keith to his knees, hand gripping his hair. Keith wastes no time in unbuckling Lance’s trousers and dragging down his underwear, lips parting at the sight of Lance’s cock, unashamedly turned on by the sight, and carefully taking the entire length, relaxing his throat and shifting on his knees until his nose brushed Lance’s pubic bone.

 

Lance made a strangled noise and his grip tightened in Keith’s hair. Keith raised up slightly, keeping his pressure light but slowly pushing Lance’s cock in and out of his mouth, making Lance groan and tilt his head back.

 

Keith popped off, sucking on the head, licking over his slit, the precum beading there, before sliding all the way back down again. Lance cursed loudly, and Keith couldn’t help but get off on the act as he performed it- the noises Lance made were more than arousing.

 

“F-fuck, _mami_ , you suck dick l-like a champ,” Lance gasped out, unable to stop himself from slamming up into Keith’s mouth, who moaned and let it happen, letting Lance use him.

 

Keith moved faster; sliding almost completely away, making Lance grip him and pull him closer- they were like magnets, pushing and pulling together and apart.

 

“ _Keith_!” Lance gasped out, suddenly frantic. “Fuck, Keith, s-stop! St-stop or I’m gonna come!”

 

Keith pulled off- albeit reluctantly- and stared up at Lance with violet eyes darkened and dilated, licking his lips.

 

“Come on.” Lance gasped, still panting. “I gotta fuck you.”

 

Keith stood up then, not breaking eye contact with Lance as he picked up a gun and smirked coyly, walking through the not-actually-a-staff-room door, hearing Lance scramble to follow and allowing himself a soft laugh.

 

 

-

 

 

Pleasantly sated, dressed in only his briefs and Lance’s open and blood stained white dress shirt, Keith leaned over the bar counter, smoking one of Lance’s incredibly expensive cigarettes, and letting his eyes close.

 

Lance had fallen asleep, drunk and sated, in the other room. Keith, forty-eight hours ago, would have never anticipated to be in this position- calm, trusting of someone, soft.

 

So when he can barely feel the draught fly in from the open door, he obviously doesn’t notice the man dressed all in black until there’s a hand around his mouth and a needle in his neck.

 

He doesn’t remember much else after that.


	4. some kind of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Unless you want your eggs to burn, I would suggest keeping yourself in check, Mr McClain.” Keith smirked at him, eyes half-lidded and teasing. He lifted his head to flip the eggs in the pan, calming his racing heart. Lance rolled his eyes and kept his touches- for the most part- decent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for three things: this chapter is pathetically short, i'vve not updated in ages, and this chapter will rot your teeth because it's super sweet.
> 
> warnings: dissociation, implied sex, flllllluuuuuuuuuuufffffffffffff, sexy times, guys im not kidding this whole chapter is basically fluff
> 
> (if it makes you feel any better, i split the original chapter in half- so next chapter is going to be sugar and spice and all things nice (ie. they'll fuck, i won't chicken out from posting it this time. i actually have all the smut written, i just dont post it so if you want let me know, no judgements)

When Keith woke up, it was between the sheets of his own bed. He bolted awake- only to groan loudly and lie back down because of the pain. There was so much of it that he couldn’t work out where it was worst.

 

He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. He felt hungover but worse- unbelievably harsh headache, right behind his eyes, nauseous, and overall: really, really shit.

 

Lance appeared in the doorway a minute or two after he woke up, and Keith just kind of stared at him, for lack of anything better to do.

 

Lance didn’t seem perturbed- he just stood by the doorway, arms folded and crossed over his chest, in sweats and a loose t-shirt. He regarded Keith with an almost fond look, smiling undeniably at him. Until his eyes bugged out of his head and he laughed at himself.

 

“Wait, fuck, are your eyes open? Are you awake?” Lance walked over, answering his own question. He was grinning, laughing easily, walking over to where

 

“Stop being so loud…” groaned Keith, but pulled back the covers of the bed and patted it expectantly, not even looking at Lance properly.

 

Lance chuckled but obliged him- climbing in carefully and gently running fingers through Keith’s hair until they both fell asleep.

 

 

-

 

 

When Keith woke the second time, it was still in his bed- alone. But, there was a glass with water and three aspirins on the bedtable, and that almost made up for it.

 

He took the pills, and for the first time, got up and walked around, still feeling like he’d had a night of hard drugs instead of-

 

Holy fuck, he’d been fucking _kidnapped_.

 

The memories came rushing back all of a sudden, hitting him wave after wave.

 

He could remember sitting in a chair, tied to the edges, hands bound, mouth gagged and a burning pain in his neck.

 

He could remember trying not to give anything away as they cut the point of the knife-

 

He hobbled over to the nearest mirror- an ornate one, floor length, with gold patterns around the edges- and lifted up the soft cotton shirt that definitely wasn’t his own. He swallowed back the nausea that was threatening, panic coming on strong at the memory.

 

On his left hip, there was a white patch of gauze, taped with medical tape, right next to where some of his scars were.

 

He carefully took a deep breath and pulled away the gauze revealing the bloody, messy cuts. He couldn’t make out the shape of the finely sliced skin- but it was okay. He already knew what it was.

 

Keith tugged away the shirt, and folded it- mostly by habit. He walked into the bathroom, closing his eyes and breathing slowly until he felt entirely numb, letting it wash over him.

 

Maybe he couldn’t take a beating like he used to- but he wasn’t too far off.

 

He propped himself up on the edge of the bath, getting disinfectant and a washcloth and began to clean out each individual cut- his father’s minions had done an impeccable job of rubbing dirt into the fine incisions.

 

Keith rummaged through Lance’s drawers until he found a first aid kit, grabbing the tweezers and cleaning out the cuts- digging through the flesh but not mucking up the outline of the two ravens, one alive and one dead, cut minimalistically so only members of the Mafia could really know what it was.

 

However, the official Mafia tattoo was only one raven- the live one, in fact-  and thus this was Keith’s father trying to prove a point.

 

To anyone else, it would just look like Keith had had an unfortunate run in with a cookie cutter- and lost.

 

Keith valiantly fought off the impending dizziness, and finished cleaning the wound, pouring getting the disinfectant bottle and pouring it over the cuts, causing more blood to drip onto the tiles. He replaced the gauze and began cleaning up his mess- every move clinical, calculated and cold.

 

“Keith, what the fucking fuck.”

 

Keith turned to regard Lance, who was standing tall, arms crossed, expression curious and stern, a little horrified.

 

“I don’t answer to you,” he snarled back viciously, glowering at him.

 

Lance took a moment to just stare at him, before asking, “Keith, do you trust me?”

 

“ _Stop calling me that,_ ” Keith growled, standing and wishing he had’ve brought his knives, something to give him solace.

 

“Why? What’s your name?” Lance persisted, not shifting from his perch against the doorframe.

 

“I. Don’t. Answer. To. You.” he enunciated each word harshly, eyes rough and hard. He was so raw, so open, so _broken_.

 

“Do you trust me?” Lance asked again, and Keith nearly bit out a harsh _‘No.’_ but something inside him forced him to stop, to rethink he answer, because _maybe he did trust him._

 

“Keith, come back.” Lance said to him, staring right into his eyes. As Lance took a step forward, Keith took a step to the defensive, immediately going to the mechanisms that had saved him so many times, staring back at Lance intensely- but the venom evaporated.

 

Now Keith just looked like a scared little boy, who had to grow up much too fast.

 

Lance, slowly, slowly extended his arms, then his hands, palms up, fingers splayed, on display, showing no harm towards Keith.

 

“This isn’t you, Keith. This panic. This coldness. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not one of them.”

 

Keith didn’t lower his defences for a long time- but it was okay. Lance stayed, unmoving and inexorable until Keith let himself slide a hand into Lance’s, tentative, until Keith made the conscious decision there was no harm- and he floated back to himself.

 

He carefully and slowly took steps until his face was buried in Lance’s chest and he wrapped his arms around Lance’s strong and lithe body, breathing shakily and trying to calm down.

 

After a breath of hesitation, Lance wrapped his arms around Keith, smiling a little and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, holding him.

 

After what could have been months of standing there, calming down and forgetting everything, Lance whispered, “Do you want to play to get me to tell you what happened?”

 

Keith nodded into his chest wordlessly. Lance ran his fingers through the black locks he could easily get to, and then gently lifted Keith under the thighs and walked him to the living room, laying him down on the couch and sitting opposite them. Keith didn’t know why Lance had put the space between them, but he looked up at Lance, eyes bloodshot and terrified and Lance took his hand, pulling him carefully until he laid directly on top of Lance, chin to chest. It took them a second to work out the most comfortable arrangement of long legs (lance) and frail limbs (keith).

 

“Take a turn. Who knows whose turn it actually is.” Lance all but whispered, fingers still in Keith hair. Keith, being a tactile being, both on the giving and the receiving, was considerably pleased with this. He could barely keep his eyes open as he asked,

 

“Were they Korean?”

 

Lance let out a tiny breath, looking dangerously close to sympathetic. “Your father’s associates, though an American branch.”

 

“Great. I figured as much.”

 

Lance let out a little huff of laughter. “Why ask then?”

 

“Clarity, crushing of hope, etc. What did they do to you?”

 

Lance snorted. “Nothing, have we met?”

 

Keith blew a half-arsed raspberry at him. “Arrogant. That’s your turn, fucker.”

 

Though Keith was softly-spoken, still trembling in his hands and pale, he was slowly coming back to himself.

 

“What did they say?” Keith asked, looking up at Lance with a mix of fear and something else. Maybe apprehension.

 

“The only English they could say was ‘a little birdy can fly, but it will return to the nest or die’ and I’m going to assume you’re the birdy. Yes?” Lance asked, tightening his grip in Keith’s hair to make sure he answered the question, which only backfired because it made Keith’s lower, and a little sigh leave his lips.

 

Keith nodded, letting his eyes slip fully closed. “Did you know Lucas was a mole?”

 

Lance stared at him, stunned. “You knew?”

 

“He wasn’t exactly subtle. He suddenly cleaned himself up, got real money, became increasingly interested in my past, Korea, where I grew up. I contacted Eunsol, before we…” he waved a hand thoughtfully, searching for the right way to put it, eyes still closed, “fell through. She explained everything. I suppose she nearly died for the beating she got for telling me, because the first time she ever spoke back to me when I contacted her was that night in the bar.”

 

“That’s… intense.”

 

Keith just shrugged. “He’s dead, she’s not in the country,” he murmured, before opening his eyes, lifting up Lance’s tee shirt and pressing a soft kiss above his navel. He replaced the shirt and smoothed the fabric down as if nothing had happened.

 

Lance laughed a little and sifted his fingers through the black hair once more. “Thanks.”

 

Keith felt pink rise to his cheeks and looked away, shocked, and ashamed at his own affectionate nature and boldness.

 

Lance scowled and gently held Keith’s pale and lightly pink cheeks in his own hands, forcing Keith to look up at him.

 

“Never apologise for doing something soft. There’s bravery in being soft.”

 

Keith snorted good-naturedly. “Who taught you that?”

 

“The softest, kindest, gun wielding man I know. You’ll meet him eventually.” Lance smiled nostalgically.

 

“Not Pinterest?” Keith jibed, and Lance huffed, rolling his eyes.

 

“You’re an asshole.” Lance murmured, still cradling Keith’s face and touching their noses together. “Whose turn is it?”

 

“Yours, if you count my previous question.” Keith answered, chasing Lance’s lips but Lance tilted his head away. Keith gave him such an indignant look that Lance snickered.

 

“My turn.” was his response, before running his thumb over Keith’s lower lip, making the younger shiver.

 

“Wha- who- why- you dissociated? And you didn’t like your name?” he stammered, unsure how to phrase it.

 

Keith stiffened, uncomfortable but not yielding. Truth for truth. That was their game, and Keith would never lie. It was against the rules.

 

“Before I was Keith, in America, adopted to a family, I was Tae Min. Sometimes, to handle the panic or the pain- physical or emotional- I go back to the state of mind I had fourteen years ago. Which was mostly, _fuck off, I’m hurting_ ,”

 

“But why a different name?” Lance persisted and Keith didn’t mind it wasn’t his turn. He figured that his earlier behaviour was deserving of an explanation.

 

“I… Having a Western name… In Korean culture is… frowned upon. So if I dissociate from everything I’ve known here, that’s the name I associate myself with.” he grimaced as he explained it, knowing that it wasn’t a normal or a casual thing to talk about and therefore his defences went right up.  “And I don’t like talking about this. My turn. Do you want to help me make breakfast?”

 

Lance gave a gentle smile and nodded. With some difficulty, Keith got himself off of Lance, and walked over to the kitchen, Lance following dumbly behind him.

 

The kitchen was mess- between haphazard meals and brief food breaks that had been scattered over the past three days where neither of them really had the time to sit down and eat something worth eating.

 

Keith casually collected a pan, eggs, bacon and various spices, with an addition of _pico de gallo_ from Lance. Keith looked up at him questioningly.

 

“What? What have you got against the pico?” Lance said defensively, pouting in a very unthreatening manner.

 

Keith shrugged. “Nothing, nothing. Just…” he waved his hand, looking for a word. “cute.” he tacked on cheekily, giving Lance a grin before turning back to the stove and cracking an egg onto the hot pan.

 

Lance moved closer behind him, arms slung lazily around his waist and held against his bare stomach. Lance hung his chin over Keith’s shoulder- sharp chin resting on his pale   collarbone.

 

Keith huffed a little, only marginally distracted, but rested his head on Lance’s.

The distraction really started when Lance’s long fingers began tracing little circles and shapes into Keith’s scarred and pale stomach, casually applying pressure around his waist. And on top of all of that, Lance’s lips began pressing a pretty line along Keith’s shoulder.

 

“Jesus, you can’t stand still, can you?” he bit out, avoiding the breathlessness that threatened.

 

Lance smirked and ran his nose up to under Keith’s ear, biting the sensitive skin just beyond his hairline, fingers brushing any stray black locks away, then holding themselves in Keith’s hair, moving his head to the side, as if he was claiming him. Keith moved pliantly under his touch, eyes closed but not quite giving in _just yet._

 

“You are a terrible… ah…” he tried, before his sentence got cut off from Lance biting his neck, on the vein under his jaw. Keith’s head tilted back, pliant and lax. In a rare moment where Lance was just studying his face, looking at Keith with what could only be described as ‘bedroom eyes’.

 

“Unless you want your eggs to burn, I would suggest keeping yourself in check, Mr McClain.” Keith smirked at him, eyes half-lidded and teasing. He lifted his head to flip the eggs in the pan, calming his racing heart. Lance rolled his eyes and kept his touches- for the most part- decent; roving Keith’s hip (the non-injured one) and holding him possessively, back to chest, crotch to ass, hand maybe slipping a finger or two under Keith’s waistband, undoing the white bow.

 

“Food first, you pest.” Keith murmured, batting Lance’s distracting hands away.

 

The food ended up falling in an admirable second, but then again, it never really stood a chance, did it?

 

 

 


	5. the rising tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith had always loved thunderstorms. He loved the dangerous, elegant beauty of a lightning strike and the dominating and loud crash of the thunder following, like a loud, intense piece of music, accompanied by the pitter-pattering of the rain. Keith also liked that it could be dark as evening at ten am, thanks to the thick layers of clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so the “””officical””” ending to the chapter is that last line, “It was surprising to find that…” BUT im self-indulgent and i had to write a little more from lance’s perspective, so I’m telling you now, instead of you being confused.
> 
> tw: actual smut ey lmao, betrayal, pLoT tWisT!!!, lance is soft, keith is soft, is so fluffy, keith appreciates the monotony of life

Keith grinned at Lance, sat on the long mahogany table, in the dark room, in the dark warehouse, eyes blown.

 

Lance was _helpless_ , and Keith revelled in that he could tell.

 

Keith looked obscene- legs spread, biting his lip, cock straining against the front of his jeans, biting his lip, playing with a long, sharp, _beautiful_ knife- and they both knew any of Lance’s little minions could wander in through the unlocked door at any point. Keith smirked at Lance.

 

“What’s wrong, Lance? Lost your game?” he teased, palming himself through his jeans.

 

Lance took six purposeful steps towards Keith, eyes dark and hard and Keith supressed a whine. Lance’s right hand gripped Keith’s thigh, his right tousling the black hair tightly. Keith was immediately pliant, looking at Lance with glassy eyes.

 

“You realise anyone could walk through door and they’d assume you’re just some dumb whore, my little mistress, desperate for my cock?” Lance whispered, voice heavy with lust and thick with his accent.

 

Keith didn’t bother hiding it this time- he gave a needy whine and leaned in closer to the scent of strong aftershave and cologne Keith’s couldn’t afford.

 

“Uh huh…” Keith murmured articulately. “Aren’t you going to fuck me over your pretty desk?” Keith teased, looking at Lance through his eyelashes and looking like _sin_.

 

Lance grabbed him closer and carefully- ever gently- but forcefully shifted Keith chest down onto the table, Keith’s pale skin against the dark, polished wood looking stark and _fucking edible_.

 

Keith gave a happy sigh, resting his cheek on his arms crossed over the table. Lance knelt behind him, tugging his jeans and boxers down with force and gripping his ass, slipping two fingers in him easily- especially after their rather… active…morning- making Keith rocked back and moan helplessly.

 

“Are- are you going to fuck me, or you just going to – _fuck-_ sit there, mister?” Keith garbled out, sounding desperate and petulant and much too loud for the rather thin walls of the warehouse-turned-crime ring hub.

 

Lance gripped his waist in favour of Keith’s hips, so not to hurt him- _never to hurt him, god forbid_ \- straightening him up and biting his neck, eliciting a tiny little whimper out of the pale boy.

 

Keith was so far gone, easy as melting chocolate in Lance’s hands. Keith is a mess of wanton moans and happy sighs and he’s so _soft and please and more and fuck me and I love you and-_

“Keith.”

 

It’s a bucket of cold water, pulling him from his little haze, and he has the audacity to _pout_.

 

Lance really had made a mess of him. But he could have an identity crisis later.

 

“Yes, Lance?” Keith threw back, extending his neck under Lance’s lips- which were now three inches away, but his breath still present on Keith’s neck and it made him hum and shiver.

 

“Do you mean it?” his voice was clipped, short, nearly angry. Or something else.

 

“’Course I mean it. You’re the only one I trust and you treat me well and you’re so _hot_ and I swear to God, if you don’t fuck me soon I might cry, it was hard enough watching you order all your little minions all day and not be able to touch you and- oh.”

 

Lance’s lips were on his, and it was brilliant. Mind blowing. And _so damn good_.

 

But more importantly, it shut Keith up.

 

Keith couldn’t see what Lance looked like when they separate- Lance’s hand had pushed his nose to his arms on the table again, but Keith could imagine and somehow the mental image of Lance- cheeks flushed, lips parted, red, swollen, shining with spit- was infinitely better.

 

Lance takes his fingers out of Keith and Keith nearly whines at the loss before realising it meant for something better.

 

“Are you ready?” Lance asked- voice surprisingly clear for someone, as Keith can now see, is _so delectably debauched_.

 

“Fuck, yes,” Keith gasped out, legs spreading by themselves, instinctively, as Lance’s cock fills him up. He grasped at the edges of the table to little avail, however he couldn’t really care.

 

Lance felt so _good,_ and _familiar_ , and shit if Keith didn’t love him. He stared back at Lance, slack faced and pleading, and gave a tiny little whimper, too wrapped up in it to be coherent in thoughts or in verbal expression.

 

Suddenly Lance was ruthless in pace and his hands roamed Keith’s exposed skin, pulling all sorts of noises out of Keith. Lance’s forceful nature had Keith melting, all the way to boiling point and evaporating, Lance’s hands a toxin and his pace, his noises, _holy fuck his noises._

Keith was fairly certain the sharp, unrestrained noises that come from the back of Lance’s throat are the sexiest things he’s ever heard.

 

Keith can’t even pinpoint when he comes; all he knows is that all the tension bled from his body and Lance was much the same, panting and Lance’s strong and gentle arms around his middle, holding him, protecting him, in a way that Keith had never encountered from anyone else.

 

-

 

Keith- much sated now, thanks for asking- spent much of that afternoon peacefully sitting over Lance’s thighs as the taller man tried to focus on sorting out accounting affairs and meeting times and other unimportant gang shit that Keith found very amusing.

 

What he did find amusing, however, was the way Lance squirmed underneath him when Keith pressed his lips to his neck, or collarbone, or anything really.

 

Eventually Keith was banished to a room under the warehouse- Lance _genuinely_ needed to _work_ like a _real adult_. (Keith grumbled all the way down the staircases, through the corridors, and over the threshold.)

 

It was two minutes before Keith realised, amidst a spike of that familiar anxiety, that he was not alone in the room. In an instant, using a move long committed to muscle memory, he had his knife out and ready in an attacking pose.

 

He listened to the thump of his heart once, twice, five times, before he sensed movement in the dark corner of the room and he lunged, immediately coming face to face with his attacker.

 

“ _Pidge?”_

 

The kid in question was smiling smugly down at Keith, dressed like a spy, two guns- a pistol and a revolver- attached to their hip, and the point of their own knife angled at Keith.

 

“Keith.” they regarded him, before lunging at him with their knife. “Welcome to training, buddy.”

 

 _first of all, what the fuck._ was all Keith could think before he realised that Pidge was unafraid to hurt him- but they never moved to kill when Keith left his left side open, or just before Keith moved to attack.

 

Keith could barely keep up, even if Pidge never moved to kill him- despite his past few days of Lance making sure he ate well, slept well, drank enough water- he was weak with exhaustion from that day of the wedding and those proceeding. It had been a week since- a quieter week, only one or two attacks- but after his and Lance’s battle with Lucas, then Keith’s kidnapping and panic, they both needed some goddamn time.

 

And now Keith was wishing he had asked Lance for some advice on how he and his associated fought, because Pidge was a bullet, shot from a smoking gun.

 

Every move they made was calculated, precise, without hesitation or falter- and many years ago, Pidge would have been dead at the hands of a psycho-killing machine bred from a young age- but Keith could keep up with only the moves he’d been taught in childhood, long forgotten in accuracy and precision, weakened with years of not needing tactics to defend or attack with a knife; and eventually Keith was on the ground, and Pidge, with two accurate slices, cut two shallow lacerations into his cheekbones.

 

“You’re going to need some work, dude,” was all they said, staring down at him. “But first, an explanation might be due?”

 

Keith scoffed, not even bothering to wipe away the trickling blood down his cheeks. “Maybe, just a little explanation.” he looked towards Pidge with an expression akin to awe, horror, terror and amazement.

 

“Well, I know everything about you.”

 

“great fucking start.”

 

“Every move you’ve made since birth I’ve been aware of from your family. I was trained to become a FBI private intelligence agent, from the age of five, before I was bought out by the Russians, where I trained there for a while before I was bought out by your family. They wanted me to track you through high school, protect you from any of their rivals, but in the end, my job was to kill. So I fulfilled the first half, but, believe or not, I didn’t kill you!”

 

“How nice of you.”

 

“Well, everyone wants to, and that was even before you pissed off your whole entire fucking family, Keith.” he was blessed with Pidge’s unrivalled glare, and he shut up.

 

“By all means, continue.”

 

Pidge wandered around as they talked, grabbing what seemed to be a first-aid kit. “Then Lance, but it was actually a different guy that hired me, I’ll get to that later, hired me. I kept up my work with the Koreans, however I’m… not going to kill you.”

 

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit sentimental?” Keith smirked at them, as they cleaned up his face with antibacterial sponges- but didn’t bandage the cuts up. Not that Keith felt any of it- just a striking sense of betrayal.

 

Pidge had never really been his friend.

 

They’d been _paid_ by his _fucking family_ to hang around him. Be his friend. Make sure little Keith, runt of the pack, was safe.

 

“Regardless, Lance has decided that I’m going to train you. We both recognise you’re not new to training of this kind, and if you ever need to stop because it’s freaking you out or something, just say. We’re not here to force you back into habits that are unhealthy or triggering. And this is mostly so that you can defend yourself.”

 

Keith thought it over, the world spinning but as though it was fallen off its axis; unlike he had always suspected Lucas of being associated with his family, Pidge had never given him a reason to question their friendship or any noticeable changes in their personality- which, Keith supposed, could be attributed to the fact that Pidge was a professional; and Lucas was not.

 

Eventually he just nodded, standing up and retrieving his knife from the corner of the room.

 

“Do you still trust me?” Pidge asked, in a quiet, nigh vulnerable voice.

 

Keith sent them a scathing look. “You imply that I ever trusted you.”

 

Knife in hand, Keith walked straight out the room and straight into Lance’s office, double stepping the staircases.

 

“Seriously?” he threw at him, venom dripping from his tongue. Lance looked up when the door slammed behind Keith, leaned back in his chair and smirked at Keith.

 

“Come over here.” was Lance’s demand, and it should have filled Keith with more anger, should have fuelled his ever present doubt that Lance secretly hated him and that everything was bad and Pidge had lied this entire time-

 

“Keith.” Lance beckoned him again, and Keith shifted wordlessly until he was standing in front of Lance, looking down at him. Lance had swivelled his chair around so the desk didn’t obstruct Keith’s path to Lance.

 

“Come here.” Lance’s voice was soft, yet unyielding in its demand. Lance held his arms open, just like his face and entire demeanour.

 

And Keith’s resolve _crumbled_.

 

He crawled into Lance’s protective hold, hiding his face in his neck, breath shaky and quiet and _holy fuck why did I ever doubt Lance._

 

“Are you upset at me specifically?” Lance asked, no demand, no obligation for Keith to reply immediately.

 

Keith thought about it. “It’s not your fault that my father’s a dick leaf from hell, I guess. So no. I don’t think so.”

 

Lance nodded slowly, hands slowly rubbing circles in Keith’s shoulder-blades, forcing him to relax into the gesture. Not that Keith was putting up much of a fight.

 

“I take it you met Pidge.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Keith whispered, shocked by the vulnerability in his own voice. He’d always told himself he didn’t need Pidge, he could have made through school, then college just fine with no friends- but slowly, Keith was realising that without Pidge, things might have been a lot worse in high school.

 

“It’s part of the training exercise that the person has no idea that their partner is in there, I wanted to warn you, but I knew the exercise would be redundant-“

 

“No no no, why didn’t you tell me Pidge was working for you? That Pidge was a fucking… agent spy thing?”

 

“Keith, I can’t give you a rundown of every single person I employ.” he was almost stern, and it melted Keith slightly, but he brushed it aside temporarily.

 

“Wait wait wait, you don’t know? Pidge was hired by my family to _protect or something_ but to mostly gather information on me to report back to them. And they were my friend! And they lied to me!”

 

Keith didn’t really he was crying until he felt Lance brush away something wet from his cheek.

 

“Shit, sweetheart. I had… no idea. When I read your file- the file that I had my own intel gather, I didn’t go through anything else because I wanted my own information, so don’t worry- it mentioned a Katie as being your best friend, possible romantic-interest, but not… I never imagined that that Katie was _Katie Holt,_ as in, Katie Holt, code-name Pigeon, trained spy. Jesus.”

 

“I thought they just didn’t like their name. They changed it in freshman year. I just went with it. Not that they were using their official code-name as their name now. Was it too recognisable? Their birth name?”

 

“Well, yes. Eventually they moved to prefer it over Katie, and using gender-neutral pronouns, and such, but this is really a conversation you should have with Pidge, not me.”

 

“But I like you more than Pidge right now.”

 

Lance didn’t respond, just held Keith tighter. “I love you, you know. I don’t think I ever said back to you.”

 

Keith choked a little sob, which might have been a laugh if Lance really looked into it. “I love you too. More than anything.”

 

“Babe, I don’t think you remotely _like_ anything or anyone right now, let alone have anything else to compare me to.” Lance squeezed his waist and Keith let the last tendrils of tension ease out of him, as he gently slapped Lance’s bicep with a small murmur of “cocky.”

 

After a beat of comfortable silence, broken only by the noise of Lance’s fingers running down Keith’s jacket“Why is everything so fucked up? Why does my fucking father want me dead all of a sudden-slash-still? Why does everyone fuck me over except you?”

 

Lance snorted. “Wrong person to ask. I am the King of Existentialism, Daddy Issues and People Screwing Over.”

 

Keith gave a wet laugh, sighing into Lance’s nape. “Can we escape? Run away to a beach house with fake names?”

 

Lance kissed his temple. “Unfortunately, my dear, we can’t. But if it’s any consolation, it’s likely we’re gonna go on a road trip soon.”

 

Keith sat up, shifting so he was sitting over Lance’s thighs, holding his neck. “Are you whisking me away to Vegas?”

 

Lance laughed, squeezing Keith’s middle affectionately. “As a matter of fact, yes. And New York. And some places in between. Whilst he hide from your crazy freakin’ family.”

 

Keith felt a pang of shame. “Sorry,” he whispered quietly, looking away, at the darkwood floors.

 

Lance held his hips and brought him forward, until their noses were almost touching. “Never apologise for things that aren’t your fault, hm?”

 

Keith nodded carefully, eyes trained on Lance’s lips to avoid looking him in the eyes, but Lance wasn’t falling for it. He tapped Keith’s chin gently but purposefully so that violet eyes met blue.

 

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” Lance asked softly.

 

Keith was surprised at the way the words seemed to burst out of him. “Am I a liability? A burden? I’m weak, my defence skills are subpar, I’ve drawn attention to you and now my crazy freakin’ family is after you too, and this whole thing is a mess, and everyone knows everyone and… and… and I wouldn’t even blame you if you just left me here, and managed it yourself, I’ll wait, and I can defend myself, worst case scenario I can run away, I’ve run away from everything, I’m good at it, but you shouldn’t get any more involved with my family, they’ll let you go if you just ignore their presence, though because of me you know too much, and the g-guy that kidnapped me probably reported you as being around me, there are spies everywhere, they’re always tracking me, I can’t- I _can’t_.”

 

His shoulders shook as he sobbed again, crawling back into Lance’s embrace, holding him tight. Lance just nodded, running his fingers through the black hair, trying to soothe him.

 

Over the week, Keith had been good and bad in waves. Some days he was fine, confident, alluring, and others he was quiet, thoughtful, soft, and others he was fearful, weary, tired- and Lance was only just learning what could trigger what and what Keith was thinking and how to calm him. Keith was a lot, and Lance was the same- and they were good for each other’s weaknesses.

 

Eventually when Keith did calm, he felt Lance’s hands cup his face and brushing stray hairs away.

 

“Keith. I’m never going to think of you as a liability, or a burden, or a weight on my shoulders. You never will be. You’re so, so important to me. I trust you. And I won’t leave without you. And if you need to leave, I’ll follow you, if you’ll let me. I never- I never imagined I’d find someone like you.”

 

Keith stared at him with wide eyes, still glassy with tears. “I…”

 

Lance laughed a little, meeting Keith’s gaze with a gentle stare, still holding Keith’s cheeks. “Shh. You’re… you’re okay. You don’t need to say anything. You can just stay here awhile. I’m sorry I made you leave to go see Pidge.”

 

Keith visibly relaxed, crawling forward and clinging to Lance like a baby koala, face hidden in his neck.

 

It was bliss, despite the questions unanswered and the storms looming over both their heads.

 

 

-

 

 

It was four days before the subject of a roadtrip arose again- and Keith was getting used to Lance’s life.

 

From six am, they were at the warehouse, a place Keith understood to be the common meeting place of everyone employed by Lance. In the times that Keith was there, he estimated there to be another 30 people _at least_.

 

Perhaps he had underestimated the size of Lance’s mob.

 

His trainings with Pidge continued in stony silence, save for the sharp criticisms and instructions given to him. Thankfully, he was a fast learner; he picked up the moves quickly and accurately, ran through the exercises with precision.

 

He could feel himself getting better- despite Pidge’s ignorance towards Keith’s obvious improvements- and he worked himself through the workouts over and over and he treated the ache in his muscles and his bones every night as a reward for his efforts.

 

In the afternoons (except on tuesdays), Keith and Lance both moved to the bar to work a shift. On his first shift, Lance taught him how to mix the most popular drinks- which resulted _exactly_ as you would imagine.

 

(keith didn’t learn much about mixing.)

 

And between Keith’s training, working with Lance, practising, working out, eating, sleeping, bartending and trying not to be paranoid over the people that wanted them both dead.

 

It was the fourth night since that day when the road-trip had last been spoken of.

 

It was late, well after their night at the bar, and the telltale strength of the winds and the dark clouds had Keith shutting up all the windows before the thunderstorm could hit.

 

Keith had always loved thunderstorms. He loved the dangerous, elegant beauty of a lightning strike and the dominating and loud crash of the thunder following, like a loud, intense piece of music, accompanied by the pitter-pattering of the rain. Keith also liked that it could be dark as evening at ten am, thanks to the thick layers of clouds.

 

Keith smiled and put on the kettle, getting two mugs ready for tea.

 

(Keith knew Lance didn’t think Keith could tell, but Lance would always drink green tea at night. It helped keep his skin clear.)

 

He wandered down the corridor to Lance’s bedroom, just in case he denied tonight. Despite them being involved as lovers, they had separate bedrooms- though it wasn’t unusual to find Keith sneaking into Lance’s bed late at night when they had not ended up in the same bed anyway. Or Lance giving an excuse of, “The heater isn’t working in my bedroom, we should share body heat.” and crawling into Keith’s bed.

 

Still, Keith respected Lance’s space; he didn’t really spend much time in Lance’s bedroom, he didn’t have much of a reason to be in there.

 

(Well, not without Lance in there. Naked.)

 

He popped his head in the door, knocking. “Lance?”

 

He stared, brow furrowed at the mound of pillows on top of Lance’s bed. Keith could see Lance’s chest rise and fall with each breath.

 

“Lance, are you okay?”

 

Lance’s head appeared above the blankets, looking distraught, panicked and scared.

 

Keith’s concern hit an all-time high.  

 

“Yes, I’m fine.” His voice was clipped short, something Keith heard more from himself than anyone else. He decided not to push it. He walked over to where Lance was, petted his hair back and kissed his hairline.

 

“Do you want some tea?” he asked gently, lips moving against Lance’s forehead.

 

“Yes, please,” he murmured, voice softer, eyes closed. Pleased with this, Keith nodded, kissed Lance’s forehead again and walked away.

 

Keith was becoming an affectionate _monster._

 

He filled the mugs with boiling water, let them brew and then carried them both into Lance’s bedroom. Lance looked much improved from his earlier state and gratefully accepted the mug.

 

“Are you feeling better?” Keith asked, soft, gentle, not really pressuring Lance to respond. Lance thoughtfully sipped his tea.

 

“Are you suggesting that I wasn’t feeling okay before?” Lance said with such indignation that Keith almost laughed.

 

Instead, he shot him a pointed are-you-fucking-kidding-me look.

 

“Fine, fine.” Lance conceded. “Must I tell you why? It’s embarrassing.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes, but shrugged. “You are not obliged to tell me anything, I’m not taking a turn for this.”

 

Lance nodded soberly before sighing deeply. “Thunderstorms freak me out.”

 

Keith couldn’t help the blushy grin that statement elicited.

 

“If you weren’t holding tea, I would throw a pillow at you, you teasing evil piece of shit,” Lance murmured around the rim of his mug.

 

Keith looked scandalised. “I will not be accused of teasing you. That is a valid fear and I will stay with you and make certain you are safe.” Keith assured him, only _slightly_ mocking.

 

Lance glared at him half-heartedly before grimacing at a soft clap of thunder. “Shutfuckdamnit” he hissed under his breath.

 

Keith scooted closer and kissed his cheek, guiding Lance’s head to his shoulder. “You’re okay.” Keith whispered into his hair.

 

They managed to drink the tea unscathed (no pun intended), before Keith set aside the mugs and bundled Lance up, holding him tightly and running his fingers through the short brown hairs until he Lance’s arms wind around Keith’s middle, holding onto him like a lifeline, burying his face in Keith’s sweater-clad tummy.

 

It was surprising to find that, even in the morning, they were still intertwined in that way.

 

 

                                                                                                                                    xx

 

It was more of a surprise for Lance- who took one look at the beautiful clear winter sun shining through the cracks in the curtains and smiled brightly to himself, at both the change in weather and their position. It was so _easy_ for him to slide his fingers under the sweater (Keith’s _night_ sweater, he corrected to himself, because there was a distinct difference between the two, “obviously there’s a difference, Lance! _No_ , it’s not that weird!”) that covered the beautiful expanse of pale skin that Lance _loved_ to mark up.

 

It didn’t take long for that desire to be given in to- within minutes Lance was carefully sucking bruises into Keith’s stomach, making them all different shades of red and purple. It made him feel like Monet.

 

However, he felt more like James Dean when Keith began to make husky, sleepy noises in response to his affections. The raw pleasure in his voice as he was roused slowly to wakefulness by Lance dragging the waistband of his sweatpants down to under the length of Keith’s hardening cock, was probably the _sexiest_ thing Lance had ever heard.

 

Until he heard Keith give at long, choked moan eyes half lidded with either sleep or lust- it was hard to tell.

 

And Lance didn’t really mind either way.

 

(you couldn’t protest about anything, really, when your mouth was occupied by your boyfriend’s cock, though.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! I’ve been thinking about changing perspective from chapter to chapter, from lance to keith etc but I’ve been uncertain. let me know what you think! that, or I’ll just have a very fluid sense of the perspective, or try to make it more neutral and give a little from each character I HAVE NO FU CK I N G ID E A MY D U DE S PL S S E ND HEL P. (aka: leave me your thoughts in the comments if you have an opinion, i'm all ears, it's as much my story as it is yours, mi casa su casa)  
> note: i've been considering adding a cheeky bit of daddy kink? gimme yo thoughts my lovelies :)  
> also brief shout out to bblueraven14, who is so goddamn sweet, and I love them. <3\. keep doin you, boo. 
> 
> also shoutouts to everyone’s comments! without y’all I may not have posted past chapter three, you are all deeply appreciated and I will continue to reply to all of you because you make my heart flutter!
> 
> and another note: make sure you check out 'i'm not your type (but you sure are mine)' by sleeplessroyalty! it's a cute, short fic that was super sweet and i've been meaning to tell y'all for ages! so go check that out :)


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